NOTES: first half is Lizzy's POV, second half is Darcy's. Lol, I knew I said I wouldn't post today, but wouldn't ya know it, I got hella stressed trying to study, and when I'm stressed, I daydream. Had to write it down. Hope y'all like!

I'm dipping my toes in the angst pool rn, and don't worry— I'll fix it quick before I take a dive ;)
Fluff coming up, but no promises after that (other than a happy ending {because I wouldn't have it any other way})

leave a comment if you enjoy! 💕 ~Vinny

Lizzy didn't know for how long she slept, but when she woke up the heat had gotten worse. She felt less ache-y; the congestion in her muscles had softened into jelly-like paste in her joints. She flopped across the pillow, stretching.

Opening her eyes, she face to face with a sticky note on her brow. Lizzy pulled it off with an amused smile. At least Fitzwilliam had left her a note.

'Lizzy,' it read, 'Sorry to leave you alone. I have a meeting I need to dial into, but I should be done by 11. No later than 11:30. After that, I don't have anything until 4:00, so maybe we could watch a movie, if you're up for it. Get well, sweetheart ~ F'

Lizzy smiled, and held the note close to her, skimming her fingers over the side. He had obnoxiously good handwriting. It looked like an art form.

Then Lizzy winced, and put a hand to her head. Heat was pooling behind her eyes, pressure building at her temples. She was still undressed, but that did almost nothing for her. She felt sticky, and overheated. Her mouth was dry.

Carefully, she picked up a glass of water Fitzwilliam had left for her, but it had turned warm and metallic from the streaming light of the window. She frowned, and put it back down after only a few sips.

Lizzy glanced at the clock (a fancy digital one by Fitzwilliam's beside) and saw that it was about 11:25. She didn't want to interrupt his meeting, so just to be on the safe side, Lizzy set a timer on her phone for 15 minutes. Then she would leave the room, and bother him for an ice pack or something.

Silently, Lizzy got out of bed and padded around the room looking for something to wear (that wasn't her ratty cotton T-shirt). By the window, Lizzy found a walk-in closet that was half the size of her apartment, and glanced around. She felt like she was maybe towing the line of intrusiveness, so she just grabbed the first thin button down she could find and dashed back to bed.

She turned on the fan, shrugged out of her pajama pants, took a few more sips of tepid water, and tried to convince herself she felt better.

The cold medicine had helped with the aching, and some of the coughing (she had only had one coughing fit since she got up), but her head was killing her. As Lizzy counted down the seconds 'til her timer would go off, and it would be safe to go out, she prayed Fitzwilliam had ibuprofen.

Finally, the time was up, and (after hastily buttoning up the borrowed shirt, which hung down past her thighs) Lizzy bounded to the door, immensely grateful.

She opened it, peeking out, and saw Fitzwilliam's back to her, hunched over a laptop. He looked stiff, and uncomfortable.

"Hey," Lizzy said quietly, so she wouldn't startle him, "I just woke up, and I was wondering if you had ibupr—"

She stopped abruptly as Fitzwilliam whirled around, a look of shock on his face. She glanced at his screen. An image of her, swimming in his dress shirt, with tousled hair and reddened cheeks, stared back at her.

Along with the image of a boardroom, and a dozen men and women in suits, all staring at her.

Her lips formed an 'O', and as gracefully as she could, Lizzy backed away and dashed back to the bedroom.

Shit.

Well, fuck me, Darcy had thought with mounting horror, in the split seconds after Lizzy had emerged from the room.

His meeting had already been a disaster. Not a catastrophic one, but a disaster in that it was boring as shit and a complete waste of everybody's time. They had been meeting to discuss the timeline of an upcoming project, puzzling out the budget and whatnot, but it ended up being a contest to see who could say the least.

Reginald Hurst (who was elderly, overweight, and constantly in need of a nap) was supposed to be the one leading the meeting, but he wasn't very good at that. Or anything else, really.

Darcy wondered to himself why the man still had a job.

Eventually, after over half an hour of enduring this time-sucking torment, Darcy had spoken up, and they had actually begun to get some work done. Of course, just when they were wrapping up (over the overtime, as it happened) the worst possible thing happened to Darcy.

His dream girl walked into the room.

Lizzy had come in, soft and sleepy-looking, wearing (for some reason) one of his button-downs with the collar very much open around her adorable bed head. He had had his camera on. Everyone had seen her eyes widen, and her back out of the room.

And now, Darcy had to pretend like that wasn't EVEN WORSE than his little sister almost walking in on him.

What was it with this week and embarrassing situations?

"Ahem," he coughed, his camera screen betraying his blush, "So, what were we saying?"

A few of his associates cut their eyes around the room. Two or three smirked. One actually had the gall to whisper, "well, at least we know why he stayed home today."

"I.. apologize for the interruption," he said, gritting his teeth, "But my…." (he couldn't call Lizzy his girlfriend. They would pounce on that as an excuse, and would attach like vultures on roadkill) "My good friend was sick. I'm staying home to take care of her. Now. Let's get back to the matter at hand."

A few snickers could be heard from his speaker, muttered and sarcastic repetitions of 'good friend.'

Darcy glared into his camera. "Let's stick to the matter at hand, shall we?"

With some effort, he got the meeting back on track, and they managed to wrap up in the next five minutes. But Darcy knew the crisis hadn't been averted. As he closed his laptop, the audio persisted for just a second, and he could hear the boardroom erupt into chatter.

About him.

With a growling noise of frustration, Darcy shoved his chair back and rubbed furiously at his face.

Why, why, why?! He always worked so hard to keep up his impenetrable persona at Pemberley Studios, and kept his private life under lock and key so that the magazines wouldn't find him— again— and now!? They were all going to be gossiping about him, and worse, and Lizzy! Sweet, funny, intelligent, vulnerable Lizzy! They would tear her apart with their gossip.

Darcy's hands had begun to still on his face, but the tension remained. Breathe. It would all be okay. He would just have to introduce Lizzy formally to the company!

Almost unconsciously, he cringed away from the idea of coming out and saying to his employees that he was dating a young barista.

He knew there was nothing wrong with that, but the people (especially the higher-ups) in his field were often elitist. They'd rip her apart, if given half the chance.

He didn't want to put her through that.

Feeling preemptively guilty and frustrated, Darcy stomped into the bedroom. Worry was beginning to gnaw at his stomach as well; was Lizzy feeling better, or worse?

He opened the door with a snap. "What do you need?" It came out harsher than he had intended.

Lizzy had been sitting on the bed, twisting her hands. She jumped up when he entered the room. "I-," she said, her voice catching, "I'm sorry I.. interrupted your meeting."

His eyes clenched shut. He really didn't want to be reminded of that right now. "It's… fine," Darcy managed, "I just— frustrated. What is it you came in for?"

Lizzy gulped visibly. "I.. I feel like my fever may have gotten worse. I can in for an.. ice… pack? Or ibuprofen. Or both."

Darcy stopped shifting his weight manically and just looked at her. Lizzy. His Lizzy. Her eyes were green and wide and scared. She looked very small in his oversized shirt. All of Darcy's tangled-up emotions were overcome with the sudden overwhelming urge to protect her, from all the bad things of the world.

He breathed out, stepped to her, and wrapped her up in a hug. After a second of stiffness, she relaxed into him. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said softly into the space above her head.

"It's okay," she whispered back.

Darcy pulled away, slowly, looking carefully down at her face. He tried for a smile, though his stomach felt upset. "I'll.. get you an ice pack, then."

Before she could say anything else, he left the room.

It didn't escape his or Lizzy's notice that, this time, Fitzwilliam Darcy took his time returning to her.